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I’m sure. I have to sleep. Besides, it’s all her fault, that dismal creature. I never should have left Jérôme alone with her. He’s sick. Who knows what devilish plots they may be hatching between them? My poor husband, in league with Florida, for his everlasting perdition . . . And now my husband is dying once again. Peacefully, in his bed this time. The first time was nothing but violence, blood, and snow. Not two separate husbands, one by one, following each other in the marriage registers. But one man, one and the same, rising again from his ashes. One long snake, always the same, coiling himself about in endless rings. The eternal man, who takes me, then lets me go. Over and over. His first face, cruel. I was sixteen, and I wanted so to be happy. Swine! The filthy swine! Antoine Tassy, squire of Kamouraska. Next, love in all its somber radiance. Eyes, beard, lashes, brows. All black. Black love . . . I’m sick, Doctor Nelson,and I’ll never see you again . . . My, what a lovely triptych! The third face, so gentle, so dull. Jérôme. Jérôme, now you’re in Florida’s hands. And all I want to do is sleep. Sleep.
    Is Florida moving the furniture? Is that what I hear? What is she doing? Right now the house is hers, all hers. She’s busy arranging the rooms, getting things ready for the ceremony. She’s opening the carriage entrance wide. I hear the gates slamming. And the door to the street, I’m sure that’s open too. What on earth is she doing? Am I dreaming? Dreaming? Florida, perched on her spindly legs. Standing at attention on the sidewalk. I can see her now. See her and hear her. A real Swiss guard, with a halberd on her shoulder. And that little starched apron she put on just this morning, flapping about on her dried-up body. She’s shouting terrible things to the people passing by on their way to mass at seven: Oyez! Good people, oyez! Monsieur is dying. It’s Madame who’s doing him in. Come one, come all. We’re going to put Madame on trial. We’re going to grill Madame like a rabbit sliced up the middle. Zip! Her miserable belly full of her miserable guts. Oyez! Good people, oyez! The indictment, writ in the Queen’s own English, by the masters of this land:
    At Her Majesty’s Court of King’s Bench the jurors for our Lady the Queen upon their oath present that Elisabeth Eléonore d’Aulnières, late of the parish of Kamouraska, in the county of Kamouraska, in the district of Quebec, wife of one Antoine Tassy, on the fourth day of January in the second year of the reign of our sovereign Lady Victoria, by the grace of God Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, defender of the faith, with force and arms at the parish aforesaid, in the county aforesaid, wilfully, maliciously, and unlawfully, did mix deadly poison, to wit one ounce of white arsenic with brandy, and the same poison mixed with brandy as aforesaid, to wit on the same day and yearabove mentioned, with force and arms, at the parish aforesaid, in the county aforesaid, feloniously, wilfully, maliciously, and unlawfully did administer to, and cause the same to be taken by, the said Antoine Tassy, then and there being a subject of our said Lady the Queen, with intent in so doing feloniously, wilfully and of her malice aforethought to poison, kill, and murder the said Antoine Tassy, against the peace of our said Lady the Queen, her crown, and dignity. Oyez!
    The court is now in session!
    A cry, sharp and guttural, both at once, piercing my skull. Florida is the devil. I’ve taken the devil himself into my house. This is the second time, Madame Rolland. The second infernal creature you’ve hired. The first one’s name was Aurélie Caron. Aurélie Caron, you remember? No, that’s not true. I don’t know whom you mean . . .
    Elisabeth takes her head in her hands. Every cry becomes a blow. I’m dying, dying . . . She